


Broken Vessels

by rosevest



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Titanic, Angst, Angst and Romance, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Historical, M/M, RMS Titanic, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosevest/pseuds/rosevest
Summary: DISCLAIMER**: This has a major character death warning, but it will eventually be a part of a reincarnation series, so it isn't really the end.The Titanic promised hope and new life to the people of London, a vision of luxury and desire for many. Ryan Ross, however, did not fall for that illusion. He never wanted to board the Titanic, and certainly never expected himself to be moving to New York City. He wasn't there for the polished China, diamond chandeliers, or even the American dream, but instead, a desperate chase for a boy who he couldn't have.





	1. Prelude; London, England: August 31st, 1906

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!! This fic is super, super close to me, and I'm really excited to share it. It's been in the works since February, so I hope it's been worth the wait. Hopefully, for the first while, I'll be publishing a chapter every other Sunday. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

George!” the dark eyed boy exclaimed, smiling. “George, what are you writing?” he beamed, sitting next to me on the grass, trying to lean over my shoulder and read what I had scrawled. He wouldn’t win this time, as he had so many times before. The night was drawing near, the sun setting across the horizon and disappearing into the River Thames. London was falling out of summertime, and life was falling into place.

“It’s not yet finished!” I exclaimed, clasping the notebook shut and pulling it away from him. He tried to reach out and grab it, collapsing in my lap. I burst out laughing, and he joined me. His smile was the sun, only brighter. His lips were full, round, just the softest shade of pink, and he was nothing less than a godsend.

“George, c’mon! I love reading your work,” he smiled sweetly, turning over and laying across my lap. His dark brown hair fell onto his forehead, small beads of sweat lined his face, and his dark brown eyes sparkled in the sunset. He let his head fall back onto me, smiling upwards. The world around me disappeared, and I felt this sense that I only did around him. _Belonging_ , I thought. It was majesty.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, George is my father’s name!” I laughed.

“Fine, _Ryan_ ,” he mocked. “I’m still not sure why exactly you insist on going by your middle name. It’s quite foolish if you ask me.”

I didn’t respond, simply tossed my head backwards, laughing, staring upwards at the sky. The sun blinded my eyes, which was a rarity in London, however, I had no necessity for the sun. The boy resting across my lap was far brighter.

 _Your eyes are the sun._ I quickly scribed, before he had the chance to look at what I had written. These were the moments I lived for, the simple little times we had alone together. This felt like home. I never felt lighter than when he was around me.

“Fine,” I finally droned, opening my notebook and snickering. “I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodil-“ I started, before he cut me off.

“You ding-bat!” He laughed, reaching out and lightly slapping my face. “That’s William Wordsworth! We’ve all read that poem in school! I want to hear one of your poems!”

“Not yet, Brendon,” I sighed.

“You’re so boring sometimes,” he pouted.

“I know,” I mused.

The truth was, my poetry never amounted to anything anymore unless it was about Brendon, and I couldn’t have him know that. I couldn’t comprehend why, however. We had been best friends for as long as I could remember; it was only natural, as our fathers were partners at a law firm.

I had just turned sixteen the day before, Brendon was fifteen at the time. We were young and naïve, a picturesque fantasy of friendship. Everything we did, we did together. We were practically joined at the hip from the moment Brendon was born. He was the constant in my life; god knows that my father couldn’t provide that stability. Mother had left us years before, although it was taboo. I presumed her dead, as I had never seen her again past the day she left. I found no constant in my family, or anyone else for that matter, only in his soft and inviting smile.

“Look, the moon is bleeding,” he chuckled, staring up at the slowly appearing moon.

“It’s certainly pretty,” I replied, fixating on the same celestial body. He was right; it looked slightly more red than usual. I laid onto my back, and I felt Brendon remove his weight from my legs. I frowned at the loss of contact. Moments later, he laid down again onto my chest, a soft smile curled in his full lips.

“School starts again soon,” Brendon complained.

“I really don’t mind school too much,” I replied.

“You should do my homework for me for the year,” he joked.

“Gladly,” I smiled. He reached up and playfully pushed on my face. The blood rushed to my cheeks as I felt his soft touch. I let my fingers move and brush through his soft, dark hair.

“You are so strange,” he chuckled, looking up at me.

“That is certainly true,” I answered. I was lucky to spend time around him, and especially lucky that soon we would spend almost every waking hour together again, at school, and then again at one of our homes in order to keep up on our studies.

I pulled out my notebook again, as well as my pencil, and began to write out a few more words along with that strange phrase.

“You should let me write something,” Brendon smiled, craning his neck up at me. I gave him a funny look, as I knew that he would try to read my work if I allowed him access to the book.

“Please Ryan! I won’t try to read anything, I swear. I promise! I’d just like to leave you a message within it, for you to look at when you’re feeling down.”

I looked at him skeptically. This was my best friend. I should be more trusting.

“Please!” he whined.

“Fine,” I returned passing him my book and pen on a blank page.

He pressed the pen against his lips for a moment, for some reason, I made a mental note of that. He wore a focused and concentrated look on his face, then shielded the book from me. He scribbled something against the paper. I could tell he was pressing hard on the paper, I could hear a soft scratching noise.

“Here you go!” he smiled, tossing in back as it landed on my face. I opened it up, and he snatched it back. “Ah, ah, no reading it.”

“Brendon!” I exclaimed. “It’s my book, I fully intend to read it.”

“Fine, but don’t do it in my presence,” Brendon answered.

“Alright,” I replied.

His fingers reached into his breast pocket, pulling out his timepiece. A shadow of a frown flitted across his face.

“Ryan, c’mon, our dads are hosting a dinner tonight, we need to get ready!” he urged me.

Shit. I had forgotten. He slowly stood up and then extended a hand to help me up. When our hands touched, I blushed, but I didn’t understand why. It was friendly, and it wasn’t anything new. This had happened a million times before. This was my constant. This was my stability.

Then alas, our hands dropped out of their attachment and the butterflies dancing in my stomach seemed to fly away.

“C’mon!” he smiled, starting to skip away. My face lit up again, and I raced after him back to the building I had become so familiar with over the years.

“George, you’re so slow!” he shouted back to me, cackling. God, that name was awful. I was wondering when exactly he would finally give in and call me Ryan.

“Brendon, slow down!” I panted back, stopping, placing my hands on my knees, and he stopped and came back for me.

“Ross, you’re honestly an old man living in the wrong body, you know that, right?” he chuckled, as we slowly started walking again.

“I know,” I muttered.

“All we need to do is get you a cane and you’ll be all set!”

“ _Brendon._ ”

“You’re so boring.”

We walked together in almost silence, letting the red bricks pass behind us. This was constant. This felt- this felt right.

“Hey Ryan,” he started. His smile wide as ever, as was mine.

“What?” I replied quietly.

“When you finally read me one of those poems, I’ll play a song for you. Just for you, none other. Boy, I’ll even write it in your name,” he offered.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Read me a poem, and I will write you a song.”

A smile plastered wide across my face. I had heard him play before, and he was nothing less than spectacular. A song in my name - that sounded like a spectacular idea.

Then suddenly, the euphoria wore off as the familiar building came into sight, Brendon’s home. We exchanged quick goodbyes, and I was alone once again. I must have imagined it, but I thought that perhaps Brendon had been looking back at me as I walked towards my own dwelling. He couldn’t have.

I pulled the journal out of my pocket, curious as to what Brendon has written. My fingers curled the pages,  and finally I recognized his writing, in chunky all caps. “I LOVE BRENDON URIE”, was written. I let out a breezy laugh. It was quite humourous, really. I would certainly look back on that fondly when I was in a bad mood.  

Walking home somehow felt lonelier than usual, although in the back of my mind I was retracing the letters that Brendon had written. As I continued back home, the firm came into sight. _Ross and Urie Legal Services_ was plastered across the front face. I felt like the names belonged beside each other, I had seen them so many times before. The letters against the red brick wall looked like heaven, even though they were nothing but our father’s names. It gave me a familiar feeling, one like home was right around the corner from me. It was right in front of me. Somehow, seeing the two names together, my brain finally clicked. Ross and Urie.


	2. One: Southampton, England: April 10th, 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Titanic leaves port at Southampton. Brendon is leaving home for marriage; Ryan, for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! I'm on vacation currently and didn't get to my laptop last night! Hopefully it was worth the wait, though!

The moment that I stepped onto the gargantuan boat, I probably should’ve felt something. I probably should’ve had some sense of hope, some sense of excitement for the new life that I would have in New York City. But I felt no such things.

There was so little to feel. All of my emotions had been drained out of me, destroyed, left behind on that hill in London. Left behind with Brendon.

And I laid alone in my stateroom, my back against the soft bed, contemplating the potentials. In my mind, there were two.

The first potential was more likely to occur. Brendon gets married. Brendon falls in love. Brendon forgets about me, and moves on to have a life and a family. Our friendship becomes a distant memory between us. There is nothing left. The moment Brendon says “I do,” I don’t ever see him ever again.

The second potential, the more preferable in my mind, was that somehow, I would find it within myself to tell Brendon how I feel. I tell him that I love him, and somehow, the feeling is mutual. Even if this happened, Brendon still had to get married. We wouldn’t run away together. We couldn’t. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t an option. Where would we run? Who would we be?

Our fate was to remain apart. The stars had not aligned for us, nor would they ever. Love was not between two men, nor would it ever be. I had to come to realize that there was certainly something wrong with me. I had to come to realize that Brendon did not, and would not share the same deviation.

This life was not one that I had wished to live. There were parts of me that still, every single day, wished that my father had betrothed me to a woman before he had passed on. Before I had the opportunity to consider falling in love. Marriage should not be about love, but rather, a business transaction. It was common knowledge that love was simply a disease of the mind, something meant for poor people. And while I may have been wealthy by monetary means, I was poor in every other aspect.

I was not going to New York for Brendon’ wedding, technically speaking. After all of my work at the Oxford Press, I had been offered an editing position at the New York Times. It was everything I had ever wanted, a world that I probably should’ve been happy to be living in, however, I was not.

This was a world where Brendon was going to be married to someone other than me. Someone he had never met. A business transaction, nothing more, I kept telling myself. He did not love her. How could he? They had never met. And no matter how long they spent together, no woman, no one, could ever know my Brendon the way that I knew him.

I rolled over, and picked my briefcase up from the side of my bed. The buckles softly clicked as I undid them. Inside were my monetary transfer papers for the bank, as well as a large mound of cash. Most importantly was my journal. I pulled it out, as well as a pencil. I rolled back onto my back and opened it up. It was pages and pages and pages of Brendon. If anyone ever stumbled across it, it likely wouldn’t have come across that way to the naked eye. I was very careful never to use the pronoun “he”. I never used names. But Brendon, if he came across it, he would know.

There should’ve been a day several years ago where I ran out of words to write about him. It should’ve happened an eternity ago. But every single time I saw his soft face, my brain would explode with a million different potentials, my mind would write a thousand different poems. But even my pencil, even my journal, could not comprehend the aching in my heart that existed solely for Brendon.

As I finally found a blank page, I pressed my pencil against the paper, and slowly the graphite began to form swirls and curls into letters, words, sentences, poetry.

There was a knock on my door.

“Ryan! Get the stick out of your ass and get out there!” Brendon called from outside. I laughed breezily.

Quickly, I clasped the book shut, and tucked it underneath my pillow. I didn’t need to wallow in my thoughts about the Brendon in my mind who was so in love with me when the real Brendon was so close to me. But only for so much longer, 7 more days. The clock was winding down, slowly ticking and tocking, and every moment I wasted in contemplation was a moment wasted without Brendon.

I propped myself up and stood off of the bed, slowly walking towards the door separating me from Brendon. Separating me from the painful and cruel reality outside of my own personal bubble.

“Ugh, I was trying to sleep,” I lied, as I pulled open the door. Every time I saw him, every single time, it was hard to believe that I wasn’t dreaming. He was in front of me. He was there. No matter for how much longer.

“You’re a lazy bugger, aren’t you?” he joked, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room. “C’mon! I want to see the ship leave the port!”

He looked so excited; his face was brighter than a thousand stars. He was the sun and I was the moon, his bright, bright smile slowly reflecting onto me and bringing me to light. A single touch, something as simple as his clammy palms against mine, turned on every light in the city that I called my body.

The hallway was decorated in reds and golds, and I supposed that it was probably to appeal to the wealthy. I never saw the need for lavish things. A thought, an emotion, a heart, was worth so much more than monetary gains. No one else in first class thought that way. Everything, every little thing in life was about greed. Money. Envy. Being better than one’s fellow man. Everything was a competition to see who would come up on top. I didn’t see the point, everyone was level when they were six feet under.

“Fine,” I replied, smiling at his soft face. His eyes sparkled, and I was happy. All that I wanted was for Brendon to be happy. And for the next seven days, I would do absolutely everything in my power to ensure that the only memories Brendon would have of me would be happy, bright memories. Planting a seed and letting it grow.

I followed him down the wide hallways, decorated with their grand and ornate finishes. This was where Brendon belonged, in a world where everything was lavish. After all, that was where we grew up. It rubbed off on him more so than it did myself. This wasn’t where I was meant to be. Unlike him, the years of life in first class did not lead me to appreciate first class living, but rather, grow disdainful of it.

I felt the floor move from underneath me, it felt so, so strange. My stomach turned. Brendon broke into a sprint.

“Ryan, c’mon! We’re going to miss it!” he called out. I quickened my pace as the ship began to sail.

This was it, we were out of England forever. There was no escape route, and the lifeboats seemed to be too feeble to carry us back home. We were sailing away from the place that we had once called home, towards a new and beautiful beginning, for Brendon at least. For me, this was my last week where I could find home in a dark-eyed boy that I had known for my entire life. Soon, he would be gone, and I would have no place to live.

“See? Aren’t you glad I brought you out here to see this? Is it not the most beautiful thing?” he beamed. The sun was glowing bright in the midday, but Brendon was far brighter. He was beautiful, the sun was beautiful, but the thought of leaving absolutely everything behind was everything and anything but beautiful. I did not want to have to change everything in my life, however, moving to New York was the only possible way to be able to continue spending any time at all with Brendon. 

“Very,” I lied, watching my past disappear behind me, and my future began to sail into uncertain territories. I let my weight rest against the rails as I stared out. This was not beautiful to me the same way that it was to Brendon. To him, it was some sort of beautiful future, a wife, a future family, everything still lay in front of him. I had not had the luxury of being married off. I would likely die alone, unless I married for love. But that was a poor person’s reason to marry, and there was one person I thought that I had the capability to love. 

I looked up at that one person, light blue ebbs and flows reflecting into his chestnut brown irises. Love. It would only escape me in this lifetime, but I so, so deeply hoped that it would eventually find him. 


	3. Two; London, England: May 1st, 1909

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time I try to summarize this chapter I write something emo, so to be completely blatant, it's a flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update! I've been extremely busy with school and I sort of forgot about it! I should start posting more regularly very soon.

“Sarah Orzechowski,” Brendon sighed. “Her name is Sarah Orzechowski.”

“Oh,” I breathed, relaxing down onto the grass. I knew this was coming. I had full knowledge that one of these days, Brendon would have to be married. It simply surprised me that he hadn’t told me until now; his eighteenth birthday had been weeks ago.

“Her father is a lawyer. Our fathers met at some ball in London,” he continued. I was slightly surprised, his voice didn’t have its usual bright timbre, rather, something almost melancholy. “She’s still too young to be married, though.”

“Right,” I bit my lip. Brendon fell backwards beside me, his head falling atop my long hair. We hadn’t seen each other for months, and yet, there were barely any words spoken between us. The letters that had been sent to and from my university did not have enough words to describe everything the two of us had experienced in our time apart from one another. And yet, there was still silence. I wanted him to tell me everything that happened over the past months, not this unspoken insincerity.

The sky was grey, there was this sense of uncertainty. The hill that we had always sat on, was longer clouded with the scent of fresh grass, but rather, that of the polluted waters of the River Thames.

“She lives in New York. My parents want me to move there instead of having her move here. They want me to go to Columbia University for law school,” Brendon spoke softly, as if he said it quietly enough, nothing would happen. If he didn’t allow God to hear him, perhaps he would not have to continue on the path his parents had chosen for him.

Our fathers were lawyers, but the two of us had spent our childhood gagging at the thought of following in their footsteps. The more concerning thought, however, was Brendon’ potential of moving to New York. That was thousands of miles away. Thousands of miles with very little potential of crossed paths. Even less potential of star-crossed lovers. 

“So you’ll be gone,” I spoke as my teeth pinched my bottom lip. It was not a question, but rather, a reaffirmation of the horrors to come. Brendon didn’t respond. I didn’t expect him to. 

Silence plagued us, words evaded our presence. We were nothing. We were everything. I did not want to think of the possibility of a life in which Brendon and I did not coexist. 

“That cloud looks kind of like a heart, don’t you think?” Brendon cured us, pointing up at the sky, fixated on some fluffy white formation. I didn’t see anything in the sky, I didn’t understand what exactly he saw.

“Yes, definitely,” I humored him. I would never have the heart to say anything that could potentially disappoint him.

“Do you ever feel your heart beating against your chest? Isn’t that such a strange feeling?” he asked.  _ Every time I’m with you, _ I thought. God, why was I acting so lovesick? Brendon would never act the same. 

“Occasionally,” I replied, leaving out any potentially incriminating details. Brendon hummed in thought. I took my eyes off of the sky and saw their mirror images in Brendon’s. We both turned our attention back to the clouds immediately. A glance was all that I could manage without suspicion. That was alright. His eyes were dark, dark, dark; tiny little orbs that gave the illusion that one might discover themselves within them. I hadn’t discovered myself until I stared into his eyes.  

I let out a heavy breath, unsure why I allowed it to escape my mouth. 

“Are you alright, Ryan?” he asked me, turning his focus away from the sky and onto me. He only called me that when something wasn’t right.

“Yes,” I lied. I would never be alright. Not since that day, three years ago; when I fell in love with a boy whom I had seen as my brother for my entire life. There had not been a single moment that I had felt alright since then. He would find me out eventually. See me as a pervert. See me as a blasphemy. See me condemned to hell. After he had seen me as those things, I would never see him again. 

He shifted to his right, closer towards me, and rested his head against my chest. He yawned softly, and my heart quadrupled in size. The feeling Brendon was talking about moments before? That was exactly how I felt in that moment. The blood was rushing so quickly through my body, pulsating to a point where I felt as though every single one of my veins and arteries was about to explode.

“I can feel your heart,” Brendon said softly. I hoped he couldn’t feel the beats it was missing; there were certainly several of those. We’d had a moment like this before, but years ago. When we were young. We almost kissed then, at least I thought we did, but I ensured it didn’t happen. For when I was seventeen, I wouldn’t have been able to handle a boy’s lips against my own. Much less this boy. 

This was too much to handle, too much to think about. I started to sit up, Brendon got the hint and moved off of me, sitting up too. He looked at me, something in his eyes less readable than an old textbook. 

“How is your schooling?” he asked in a feeble attempt to change the subject. I was glad he did. I wouldn’t have been able to listen to Brendon speaking of objects in the sky and hearts without feeling my own heart explode, leaving me up in the sky. 

“It’s always been a bore. You shouldn’t need to be taught how to write, you know? You should just,” I paused for a moment, considering what to say next. “You should just do it. If you’re taught, everything becomes so typical. Everyone writes the same. I haven’t any desire to write the same way as everyone else. I want to be the next Oscar Wilde, the next Rimbaud, the next Verlaine. I’ve no desire to become a journalist who only reports on what the people want.”

“Wilde?” his eyes widened. Shit, all of the poets I’d named were homosexuals. 

“His work is really very fascinating,” I replied, in an attempt to cover up my Freudian slip. 

“If schooling is of no use to you, why do it?” Brendon asked softly, brown eyes piercing my soul. I had never really considered the possibility of leaving behind an education.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’d like to be paid during this lifetime,” I concluded, laughing a little. Brendon didn’t seem to find it funny. 

“You know, I think you could get paid for your poetry,” Brendon smiled softly. 

“Is that right?” I asked him.

“If you would just let me read the bloody stuff!” Brendon laughed, reaching into my pocket and attempting to pull out my journal. He knew for some reason, that I always kept it there. I realized quickly enough to grab onto his wrist, causing him to drop the leather bound book. We both scrambled to try to be the first to grab it, rolling over one another in attempt to be victorious over the other. I ended up with the journal in my hand, on my knees, straddled over Brendon. He was laughing this soft, melodious laugh, little brown curls pressed against his forehead. He radiated warmth. It wasn’t just the physical warmth from his body beneath mine, but something in his laugh, something in his smile. If the sun burnt out in that moment, life would remain. Brendon would be there to create enough warmth and light to replace it, if not more. 

I wanted to lean down and kiss him. I wanted that more than anything. Lust boiled within the pit of my stomach, and I knew I had let myself go too far when the crotch of my trousers felt tighter. I stopped laughing, and immediately pulled myself off of him. He frowned.

“You’re such a bore,” Brendon said, pulling himself back up into a seated position. I had heard him say that phrase thousands of times, and it never really bothered him. He could be a bore. It gave them something to speak about. 

“Not more so than you,” I retorted. He looked offended. 

“I am far less boring than you,” he replied.

“Prove it,” I challenged.

“Next time,” Brendon smiled, collapsing back onto the grass. 

“You’re simply afraid that I’m right,” I offered, letting my spine roll down against the grass. Dewdrops were likely staining the khaki coloured corduroy of my jacket, however, I didn’t mind. 

Brendon just laughed, staring up at the clouds. This was what home felt like. I wondered if he could still see the cloud shaped like a heart. I certainly could not. 

I looked over at Brendon, who was enthusiastically explaining what he thought each cloud in the sky looked like. I could feel my heartbeat against my ribcage. 


	4. Three; Southampton, England to Cherbourg, France: April 10th, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me so long!! i've been ridiculously busy with exams and university applications!! but here it is!! i'm not gonna include a chapter summary, just because theres not much to summarize. thanks for reading!! hope u enjoy!!

“Ryan, try to look just a little happier, would you? This is a new beginning! We get to leave everything behind and start from scratch,” Brendon exclaimed, staring out at the open sea. Leave me behind, was how my mind chose to process it. 

New beginnings, as my father once explained, could only occur in the case of death. Whether it was a person, an idea, a phase of life. Something had to pass on for anything to begin. In this case, death would mean that everything I’d once had with Brendon would slip through my fingers. I had known this for three years. I had three entire years to prepare my mind for the upcoming ending, and yet, I still couldn’t comprehend what was about to happen. Over one thousand days, and no part of me was prepared for a world without that hill in London; without Brendon’s head resting atop my chest as he explained the formations of the clouds. 

“I’m happy, I’m happy. Joyous, even,” I lied. Brendon seemed content with my answer and returned back to staring at the bobbing waves. He seemed captivated by the ocean, I was unsure why, as he had seen it a thousand times before. But there was something so calming in seeing him happy. Every time I witnessed that smile, a thousand years were added onto my life. At this point, I was immortal. 

I joined him, elbows resting on the railing, staring over the edge and into the ocean. He turned his gaze to me for a moment. I caught his eyes in my peripheral, and he looked as though he was about to say something to me. But the contents of his consciousness were not spilled, he simply stared at my face, then back into the ocean. 

My eyes would never be that shade of blue. I thought Sarah’s might be. I had never seen what she had looked like, however, for Brendon, I expected nothing less than gorgeous. Much more than I could ever be capable of providing. He deserved to love and be loved. His life was meant to be far better than my own. 

“Ryan,” my ears perked up upon hearing my own name. “You know what I love about the ocean?” Brendon asked me. 

“What?” I asked. 

“The surface is so calm. There way that the sun reflects on it almost looks like little diamonds, don’t you think? But we'll never really know what's underneath.”

“We have an idea. There’s definitely fish. And certainly more water,” I replied. 

Brendon let out a sigh. “I don't think you understand.” 

He was right, I didn't. He was trying to make some kind of a point, but I had missed it by a mile. 

“There's something beautiful about the unknown,” he tried to explain. 

Oh. I agreed with him, I supposed. There was certainly something beautiful about the unknown. I found it more terrifying than beautiful, but Brendon looked at the world so differently from me. He was full of love and optimism, I was full of fear and pessimism. 

“I suppose,” I responded. His smile faded. The colours of the ocean were no longer bright or beautiful, and every bit of heat disappeared, leaving us freezing. 

“I'm getting married in a week,” he breathed. It seemed like the realization had hit him the same way that we had crashed his father’s Rolls Royce into that ditch so many years ago. 

“I know,” I replied. 

“I should find my family,” he started. “They probably wish to see me.” I nodded, and he stood up off of the railing and walked away from me. I wish I hadn’t noticed when he looked over his shoulder and back at me. I wish I hadn’t felt so much pain when he had stared into my soul with those piercing brown eyes. 

I stared into the ocean, trying to understand what Brendon loved so much about it. The ebbs and flows of the waves were quietly crashing against the edge of the gigantic boat. Maybe there was something beneath worth knowing about. Maybe he was trying to make a point about something, although I had no idea what it might have been. 

He was normally so straightforward with me. Why was he suddenly speaking in these broken metaphors? Was the ocean supposed to be some sort of a person? And was he trying to explain that people weren’t always whom they seemed? Or was he trying to describe some sort of concept? Or a specific person? I was deeply confused. 

Perhaps he was attempting to reference his upcoming nuptials, that was probably what it was. There was something beautiful in the unknown? He was definitely attempting to make reference to how wonderful his life was about to become. Who he would be. Life without me. 

If Brendon was so in love with the unknown, then why couldn’t I have been enough for him? I was the same as those waves he loved so much, with little on the surface and everything hidden beneath. Hell, I’d managed to keep it beneath that I was in love with him for five long years.

As I breathed in the salty air, I contemplated the possibility of remaining alone for the rest of my life. It didn’t seem too terrible; I could focus on a profession instead of a family. I wouldn’t have to be concerned with raising children, not that I would’ve been any good at that to begin with. Brendon was the type to marry, to raise a family, to wake up in the morning to the screams and cries of young children, and to love. That was obviously not the life for me. I was born alone, and I would die alone.

With every passing moment, I expected reality to hit me, for me to finally come to terms with the fact that Brendon would be wed, and not to me. Instead, my mind kept attempting to imagine a world where we were curled up together in front of a fireplace. I felt warm in this reality, and not just from the roaring flames in front of me. This was the world that I should have been living in, not one where Brendon would be married off for social status and I would be left alone. Love was not in my wheelhouse, nor would it ever be.

The ocean didn’t fascinate me the same way it did Brendon, but I could learn to love it for him. I could learn to love anything for him. There was a mental clock, tick, tick, ticking down as every moment I had left fizzled down. And in these crucial, final moments, he was no longer here. I was left alone to stare at the ocean, contemplate the unknown.

The unknown was terrifying, not fascinating like Brendon seemed to assume. There wasn’t some perfect ending for all, no. Perhaps for him, but never me; in order for him to achieve happiness, I would be miserable. 

He knew everything in his life as a concrete fact. He would be married. He would become a lawyer. He would have children. He would die. It was a simple formula, really. No question about anything. I, on the other hand, had no idea where my life would take me. Especially where it would take me once Brendon was no longer a part of it.

My love would always be unrequited, there was no doubt about that, however, I never managed to take into account the fact that without him, I would no longer have a subject to scribe on about for hours on end. I would never have the dreamer in Brendon to tell the realist in me that I could go on to do great things, that I wouldn’t have to live on as a mundane journalist for the rest of my life.

Without Brendon, I would be reduced to a simple man, nothing more than a simple writer. No poet, I would never leave an impact. But Brendon, he would without me. He absolutely would. 


	5. IV- Oxford University: December 12th, 1909

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna add some fake deep shit here but changed my mind. This is Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's taken me so long to update!! life got wild but i should be back to posting normally again soon!!

_ December 11 th , 1909 _

_ Dearest Ryan, _

_ I hope all is well. I’ve missed you here. Nothing is the same without you at my side. I assume this letter is late, as usual, but nevertheless, I still do miss you. Your father says hello. My family misses you. _

_ I am not attending school this year, our fathers wish for my help at the law firm, with you gone and all. I know you already know this, but I thought I’d remind you. Hopefully I will be at Oxford with you next year. That would be so wonderful, wouldn’t it? I could see you every day once again. Those were the best times. _

_ Alas, my family is beginning to plan the wedding, however, I am not sure if I’d like to marry. I hope you will be there, even if it is in New York. But that isn’t what I wish to talk about right now. _

_ You haven’t been returning my letters recently; I’m worried about you. I miss speaking with you, even if it is only through writing. I wish I could hear your voice again. Will you be home for Christmas this year? I hope you will. It wasn’t the same without you last year. You’re more family than anyone else will be to me. _

_ I am rambling. I wish you were still here. I know how you love to visualize things, so visualize this, I’m sitting on the top of the hill that we always used to go to, attempting to write this out for you. I wanted to write out the lyrics of a song I had written for you, but I figured I’d share the courtesy that you give with your poetry, and take it to my grave. _

_ I am running out of space on this paper, but please write me back. I am very worried about you, I hope you are all right. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Brendon Urie _

Goddamnit! I had been drowning in my studies, and continuously forgetting to finally finish the letter I had been writing back to him. I had certainly missed him, but at this point in my life, my studies were the most important thing. Unfortunately, that meant I had to cast aside other things in favor of achieving impeccable grades and continuing to complete stellar work with the Oxford Press.

I reread every letter, every word, focused on the way each mark of the pen curved. This was Brendon. Although it wasn’t as much of him as I would’ve liked, It was still him. And I would take whatever I could get.

I picked up a letter I had started writing a response the week prior, however, it simply had his name at the top. No words, no body. I didn’t have the heart to write him back.

I missed Brendon dearly, however, I wouldn’t share that information with him. It was not necessary. I wanted to write back, but my pen was frozen, no words could come out. I figured that if I avoided him for long enough, I could forget about him. It was stupid of me, really, since he occupied a permanent place in my mind. Nothing could shake him or have me rid of him.

Sat up off of my bed, casting his letter aside. I would likely read it again later, absorb the scent of his aftershave that still lingered against the paper. I walked across the room to my desk, opened up the drawer and pulled out my notebook along with a pen. At this point, if I didn’t write him back, he would certainly worry gravely about me. Not only that, but I wanted his flow of letters to continue, but I did not want to face him.

I walked back to my previous place in my bed, sunk down into the linen sheets. The end of my pen found itself against my lip, an act of concentration in attempt to determine what exactly I would write back to my beloved. Except, he was not my beloved. Never would be. He was simply my best friend. And I would have to live with that.

There was no ink left in the pen, as I pressed it against the pape; fitting, really, considering I still had not conjured what I wished to convey. 

It was simple to write about him. I could write pages and pages of Brendon and exactly what he meant to me. But writing to him was an entirely different question. Every thought had to be calculated far in advance, to ensure I wouldn’t slip. He couldn’t know. The world wasn’t ready for a pair like the two of us. He wouldn’t be ready for a pair like the two of us.

I had heard that one of the boys living in my building had engaged in homosexual relations. No one was to speak a word of it, as we didn’t want to be the ones responsible for his imprisonment. I thought that I ought to seek him out, as I had many questions about many different things. That could have gone horribly wrong though, because it could have been a rumor. I wasn’t quite sure what I would do in the end to handle my curiosity on the subject, but I would stay silent. Likely for the rest of my life. 

I wondered if Brendon had ever even considered men as lovers. Probably not. I knew that I definitely was not the only one, but I wasn’t sure if he had ever thought about it. Trying to imagine Brendon in the same predicament, as I was certainly difficult, I doubted he ever considered such things.

I shook all of those sorts of thoughts quickly, attempting to bring my pen to write. Nothing.

A knock on the door echoed in the small room. I groaned and sat up from my place on the bed, and strode towards the door.

I opened the door, and behind it stood Brendon. He wore a concerned expression on his face, but upon our brown eyes meeting, it faded away. He was standing in front of me. It was no longer simply the memory of Brendon that filled my mind, but the reality of him standing directly in front of me.

I blinked twice quickly, to ensure that this wasn’t just a dream. That Brendon was really there. He looked me up and down. I couldn’t read his expression. He then threw his arms around me, pulling me tightly into him. I tentatively let my hands fall onto the backs of his shoulder blades. He was there. He was real. He had me in his arms.

“Nice to see you too,” I laughed. He pulled away from me.

“I was worried you were dead,” he replied. “You always used to answer my letters within a week. It’s been more than a month, Ryan.”

“I’ve been busy,” I waved him off and stepped inside. He followed.

“That’s no excuse to ignore your best friend, is it?” he asked, then began to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you. But in case you’d forgotten, your Christmas break starts today. I’m here to take you home.”

“Oh,” I answered. I truly had forgotten. I had been so absorbed in my studies that it seemed I had nothing else to look forward to. 

“You absolutely forgot, you ding-bat!” he chuckled.

“Well, would you have expected someone to show up at your dormitory after dark to take you home for Christmas?” I asked him.

“I think you’ve learned not to expect anything from me by now,” he replied.

“You are such a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that, right Brendon?” I asked him.

“Of course I do,” he replied.

“Did you bring the Rolls Royce?” I asked, sitting down onto my bed. Brendon followed my lead and sat down beside me. Brendon was sitting on my bed. It wasn’t exactly the same as having him in my bed, however, that did not prevent my mind from wandering into forbidden places. I shook any sexual thoughts of my best friend quickly, I could not be put into a compromising situation right now. That was not an option while he was sitting here beside me.

“Of course I did! Would you expect any less of me?” he asked. 

“No,” I responded. “But are you seriously planning on driving it home this late at night?” I asked him.

“No, you’re driving it,” he replied. I had never driven an automobile before, did he really expect it to be a good idea for me to drive his father’s Rolls Royce my first time?

“I was just about to sleep,” I lied. He raised an eyebrow at me. He could always tell when I was lying.

“No, you absolutely were not,” he replied.

“I’m tired, Brendon,” I mumbled, attempting to sound as sleepy as possible.

“You know what? We can leave in the morning,” he looked me dead in the eye as he answered my gurgled statement. Wait, could I have truly heard what I just had?

“Our fathers will worry, should we not go home?” I asked.

“My father is in New York this week. Your father does not know that I’m here,” he replied. Was I actually trying to talk my way out of falling asleep beside Brendon? That was something I never expected of myself.

“Alright,” I replied. 

I wasn’t exactly sure how we would go about this, I mean, we had definitely stayed over at the other’s homes overnight while our fathers were on important cases, however, never in the same bed. There was only one bed in the room, and so, there was no other option unless I planned to sleep on the floor.

To my surprise, he almost immediately began to pull off his tie. I watched him, completely fascinated by the motions of his fingers as they pulled at the fabric. I did not dare let my mind venture into the territory of what else was possible with his fingers. As he undid the buttons on his shirt, I attempted not to stare at him. He was beautiful, soft, milky skin slowly becoming more and more visible as his digits worked their way down the centre of the white shirt that covered it. He was right there, in front of me, he could be mine if I truly wanted him, I thought.

“Are you alright?” he asked me.

“Pardon?” I replied, being careful to take my eyes off of their fixation on his navel.

“You were staring,” he said. I had been caught. I could say something, or I could pretend like nothing had ever happened. Plead the fifth, if I were an American.

“Sorry,” I said softly. He did not stop undressing however. I did not see it as an invitation to anything. That was not thinkable. He would never see me that way, it was really quite simple.

But here he was, in front of me, shirtless. I wondered if any other had seen him like this before. I hoped that I was the first. 

I had to shift my attention when he began undoing the buckle of his belt. I focused on the journal sitting atop my pillow. I was surprised that he had not attempted to steal it away yet, read the forbidden words that I had written about him.

He seemed fairly comfortable, his shirt and belt on the floor, left in a pair of khaki slacks and suspenders. He was glowing. I would never have the opportunity to see him in this light again, most likely. He was everything I had ever wanted, and more. And he was right here in front of me.

His eye caught the leather book, and immediately attempted to grab it away from its place. I was quicker, however, reaching for it and clutching it closely to my chest. This was mine. Perhaps he would read it someday, but likely not until I was on my deathbed. This was mine, not his.

“Why won’t you just allow me to read one poem! You used to all of the time when we were teenagers!” he pouted, falling back onto my bed. He was lying in my bed. He was shirtless. He was here. I could not believe that he was here, in real life, and not just a figment of my imagination. Especially with him exposed like this.

“Things have changed since we were teenagers, in case you haven’t noticed,” I mumbled, standing up and off of my place beside him.  

“Where are you going?” he asked me. “Do you have some sort of date tonight?”

“No, I replied, giving him a dirty look. “Just changing into sleepwear.”

“Leave the book here, I’ll be ever so bored without you beside me,” he coaxed.

“I’m right across the room, Brendon, you can still speak with me.”

“But it’s like you’re worlds away!” he exclaimed, laughing. I watched the movements of his chest rising and falling, quick and sporadic. I smiled as I heard him laugh. It seemed hard to believe that he was a real person, everything he did seemed so otherworldly to me. I couldn’t help myself from loving him.

“One day, Brendon. Be patient,” I started, as I began changing my clothing. I took my attention off of Brendon and onto the task at hand. He could wait. At some point, I thought I could feel his eyes on me, but when I looked back at him, he was humming at the ceiling. I must have been imagining things.

I walked back towards the bed, and attempted not to pay so much to every detail, every curve and mark of his stomach. There were so many things I had never noticed about him, especially things of this sort.

I sat on the bed beside him, not daring go under the covers. That would make this too personal, too sexual. I loved him too much for that.

He stared up at me, the expression on his eyes completely unreadable. 

“I still don't know what you've been up to since you stopped answering my letters,” he mumbled. 

“Nothing interesting. The usual. Writing for the Press, studying, not much else. I've been seeing about getting some of my work published,” I answered, staring down at him. His eyes sparkled, as though I had just told him something he had been waiting to hear. 

“So I'll finally be able to read it,” he smiled. 

“Not if I use a pseudonym,” I asserted. 

“A what?” he asked, obviously confused. 

“A false name,” I replied. 

“You're no good,” he stuck out his tongue. 

“Didn't your father ever tell you not to stick around poets? We're mysterious people,” I chuckled, letting my back curl down and my head hit the pillow beside his. There was a small piece of hair covering his forehead, I had the urge to brush it away, but I did not allow myself to go through with it. I didn't want to touch him, I didn't want to break him. He was so fragile and gentle, my coarse touch would certainly cause him to crumble. 

“I like mystery,” he replied. He moved his arm slightly, and I flinched. I didn't want him to touch me. He looked confused. He was confused and I was afraid. It seemed a common trend in our friendship. He just stared at me, dark brown eyes piercing into my own, as if he was trying to unearth some kind of deep, dark secret. 

We laid in silence for a moment, the tension in the air so thick that you could cut it through with a knife. Neither of us dared to slice it. There was something calm in the silence, even if I wished he would say something to me. Anything. 

I focused on the sounds of his breathing, air going into and out of his lungs. I wished I wasn’t focusing on how deeply I wished for the air in his lungs to share space in my mouth. My eyes fell on his chest. I remembered how he used to say that he could sometimes feel his heart beating in his chest. I couldn’t see it, but I thought that I could feel the vibrations from it through the bed. 

“I thought you were going to sleep,” he said softly. “I mean, that is what you told me when I got here. But you seem more awake than usual.”

“I thought so too,” I responded. 

“I’ve missed you terribly, Ryan.” he exhaled. God, so had I. “I was so worried when you stopped returning my letters. It was so unusual of you,” he sighed. He moved his head onto my chest. I flinched as he touched me. I barely experienced the warmth of human contact anymore, and experiencing it from Brendon was overwhelming.

“I apologize for that,” I said softly, letting myself go for a moment, and letting my calloused fingertips fall onto his soft chest. 

“Tell me about everything. I want to hear. And not just superficial things, I want to know what’s been happening in your life. I’ve been so curious. I miss reading your letters,” he said softly. 

“I don’t know what exactly to tell you,” I said. “My life isn’t a very interesting place to be living in.”

“Nonsense,” he retorted. “Tell me something that you’ve written about for the papers, tell me about a poem you’ve been writing, or a friend you’ve made. Tell me something. You used to tell me everything, It’s getting very frustrating having to press on you for any sort of information about your life.”

“I’ve been writing a lot about the sun,” I finally opened up. “I mean, in poetry. I find it so fascinating, it’s so bright, so beautiful.”

“That’s interesting,” he replied. 

“You’re not going to ask to read it?” I asked. It had become fun, playing around with him and teasing over the fact that I would not let him read my works. 

“I am surprised you haven’t realized that I know better than that now,” he sighed. “Goodnight Ryan.”

He shut his eyes, in the process of falling asleep. He looked so peaceful. I really wished that I had the ability to fall asleep like this every night. His breathing was beginning to sync with my own. We were one, in the most innocent sense. 

I knew that I would not attempt to fall asleep that night, for there was no way that I would fall asleep with him asleep in my bed. When I was certain he was asleep, I placed a soft kiss on his forehead. This was the only opportunity that I would have for any contact of this sort. His freckled skin felt moist against my lips. He stirred slightly, and I was concerned that he would wake up from the contact. 

Instead, his arm hooked around my torso, pulling himself closer to me. My breathing grew shorter. His remained the same, soft, relaxed and sleepy. I loved this boy, and he was here with me. This would be the only time. This was my opportunity. Now, I knew it would be alright. I let my arms wrap around him, he was so, so soft. So, so sweet. Everything I ever could have asked for in another person. It was strange, feeling his bare skin against my own. I moved one hand into his hair, smooth hair against my rough fingers. 

I did not wish to fall asleep in that moment. I loved him. I wanted to absorb every second of this. Every moment of my skin on his, every second of his presence, alone, with me, bare, exposed. He looked so gentle and so breakable, and while I was not an angry person, I was not a violent person, but in this moment, if anyone attempted to cause him any harm, they would certainly be a dead man. 

The night went by too quickly, the darkness covering the two of us, and slowly, slowly, slowly, taking away the secretism and blanket over us. Brendon began to stir, and as I knew that he was about to wake up, I immediately dropped my arms from their place around his body. He let out a soft yawn against my chest, and my heart began to throb to a point I feared my blood flow would move too quickly through my body for survival. 

“Good morning,” I whispered. There was no need for a quiet tone, but I feared someone would hear me. I did not want anyone to ever hear me showing affection to another man. As much as I loved Brendon, I knew it was wrong. I knew that I could not love him properly. 

“Good morning to you as well,” he responded, stretching up and sitting up. It was hard to pretend that the intimacy of the night prior had never existed. Perhaps for Brendon it was nothing new, but for me, I had never experienced such a closeness with another human being. 

“Have you packed your things yet Ryan?” he asked sleepily. 

“No,” I replied. “You forget that I didn’t know that you were going to show up here today.”

“Alright, that just gives me more time to sleep,” he laughed, collapsing back onto the pillow. I laughed at his laziness as I got up out of the bed. 

He was already starting to fall asleep. The tiny rays of sun coming in through the window and hitting against his face made him look so angelic. So pure, so sweet, so simple. Things that I would never be. 

I put together a few things inside my briefcase, only the necessities. I had most of the things I needed at home already: clothes, toiletries, the works. It was mainly my writing supplies that I needed to bring home. 

The soft buzzing of Brendon’s  snoring filled the room, I laughed lightly to myself. Generally, snoring was annoying, however, when it was Brendon doing it, it was quite sweet. He had pulled the covers up from underneath himself, he must have been cold. I wished that this wasn’t such a rare site, that I would have the opportunity to see him so peaceful and lovely every morning. But that was not reality. 

I finished packing my last few pens, and snapped the clips on my briefcase shut. I knew that I would have to wake Brendon, however, that was the last thing that I wanted in this moment. I analyzed every part of his sleeping face, my soft, soft angel boy. 

I stepped back over to the bed, and sat down on the corner. I watched his chest rise and fall, it was such a peaceful cycle. I wished that I could stay here for good, lay back down beside him, our bodies curved together like two perfect moons, intertwining, becoming one. God, I wished for that. But this was not a world where something of that sort could occur. 

I began to put my hand out, then drew it back slightly. I brought it back, and placed it onto his waist. His waist was so small, I felt as though I would risk crushing it if I squeezed. Instead, I rocked him back and forth slightly. 

“Hey, hey Brendon,” I said softly, as to soothe him, but still loud enough that it had the potential to draw him out of his slumber. “Wake up, love. We need to consider going home. We have a long ways to go. Wake up, darling.”

He began to stretch out, his limbs extending in all directions. He was beginning to wake up. God, how I wished that I could be here to experience this every single morning for as long as I might live. 

He sat up, rubbing his wide eyes, the sheets falling down to reveal the flushed abdomen of the boy that I was so in love with. His body looked so sweet, and I wanted so badly to simply push him back down onto the bed and have my way with him, however, I knew better. We were best friends. And that was all that we ever would or could be. 

“How long have you been trying to get me up? I apologize,” he mumbled sleepily. I noticed that his hair was messy, little parts of it going in all directions, but it looked so sweet on him. It would not have been the same sort of thing had it been anyone else. 

“You have no need to worry,” I smiled at him. “It has only been a minute, if that.” 

“Oh, thank god,” he said softly. 

I stood up and off of the bed, my feet hitting the carpeted floor. He stood up as well, and my eyes took a very good look at him. His bare skin was such a rare sight, one that I would certainly need to remember for a while to come. I certainly would not have the opportunity to see the masterpiece of a boy God created for a very long time. I must have been imagining it, but I swore that I could see a slight bulge directly below his belt loops. There was no way, unless it was residual from the night. 

“We’d better head out,” he said, picking up his discarded and now wrinkled shirt off of the floor. “I don’t want to get home in the middle of the night.”

“If you’re expecting me to drive, you most certainly will,” I joked with him. 

He tilted his head backwards, laughing, and the light hit him just perfectly. It was like someone simply wanted to test my ability to control my urges for Brendon. I watched each muscle move in perfect harmony as his arms lifted to begin pulling his shirt back on. Whatever God had created him had certainly taken its time, carving out each and every perfect detail in order to make the perfect human being. One sleeve was on, and then the second, his pretty arms covered up, now hidden away from my sight. 

He began to work on the buttons, pulling them back in and together. His fingers worked so diligently and quickly, I attempted to draw my thoughts away from the possibility of other thing that they might be able to do diligently and quickly. 

“What?” he asked, catching me staring. I was still not ashamed for it, he was so, so beautiful. Anyone in their right mind, homosexual or not, would have done the same in my position. God didn’t create such a masterpiece for people to feel ashamed of them admiring it. 

“Nothing,” I responded, pulling a small notebook out of my inner breast pocket. I quickly scribed  _ When God chiseled out your body _

_ He certainly took His sweet time _

_ For I cannot imagine _

_ The possibility of anyone looking as beautiful as you _

_ Especially if they had been rushed in their creation.  _

I knew that I would not be the lucky person to eventually see the entirety of him, trace over his perfect body with my fingers. He was a masterpiece who was not be touched. 


	6. V- Cherborough, France: April 10th, 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hate writing these but essentially they have a serious discussion about Brendon's pending nuptials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies! I know I constantly say i'll keep a consistent posting schedule on this but life is messy and i dont always get the opportunity to post when i want! i guarantee there will be another update in the next seven days, though. pinky swear.

I chose not to attend dinner that night. I did not want to be forced into spending time with Brendon’s family, listening to all of the details of his upcoming nuptials. I was tired of being reminded that I could never have him. I would never have him. That he would spend his life with another. I was perfectly happy being alone in my stateroom, it gave me time to contemplate, to write. 

Brendon had attempted to drag me out of my solitude, however I did not follow in suit. I remained here. I was not hungry, was my claim as to why I did not join the Uries, but Brendon did not believe me. While it was not a lie, it was certainly not the entire truth. 

I pulled out the journal I used to spill my brain into while I was still in my teenage years. I flipped through pages and pages of my words when I was first starting to realize that I was in love with Brendon. They were so much lighter, so much more carefree than the horrible things I wrote now. Then, I reached a page that I thought I had forgotten about. 

“I LOVE BRENDON URIE” read across the paper. I lifted my left hand, slowly letting my fingers trace over the blocky text. I laughed softly to myself. He had truly predicted the future. I loved him. I loved him more than I ever thought I would be able to love another person. He was my everything. I loved Brendon Urie. 

“I love Brendon Urie,” I whispered softly. That was the first time I had really said it outloud, although no one would hear it. And that was the way it should’ve remained, only I would ever know that I was deeply, madly and truly in love with Brendon Urie. 

A knock on my door caused me to scramble and slam the book shut, then fall out of my bed with a loud “bang”. 

“You alright in there Ryan?” Brendon called out. Shit. I threw the journal aside, and it crashed against the dresser in the room. “

“Absolutely!” I called back. 

“Are you sure? It sounds like things are crashing around in there,” he said. 

“Give me a moment!” I answered. 

“Alright,” he replied. I quickly made my way to the door, unlocked it and opened it to reveal Brendon. 

“Come in,” I offered, gesturing for him to come into my space. 

“Thank you,” he said, stepping in. 

“Is there something particular you wanted?” I asked. 

“Oh, am I being a bother?” he frowned, analyzing the room around him. 

“No,” I shook my head, laughing. His eyes caught on something. The door I had noticed earlier today. I wondered if it could actually be opened. I supposed he was wondering the same thing, as our rooms were next to one another. That was my door to his world. I dared not open it. 

“I just wanted to speak with you,” he said, eyes moving from the door and locking onto my own. 

“Of course,” I responded, moving over to sit on my bed. I patted the spot beside it. He sat down, but never broke eye contact. “Is everything alright?” I asked. 

“Not really,” he sighed, dropping his gaze. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, moving my right hand over his left. He flinched. I pulled it my hand away. That was too far, I understood that. I guessed that a portion of me just wished that it wouldn’t have been.

“I’ll be married once we get off of this boat,” he said softly. 

“I’m aware, what’s the issue with that? You’ve been so excited to be married,” I replied. Deep down, I was truly happy that he was not happy about being married. My brain somehow twisted it into me still having an opportunity to be with him. I loved him so deeply, I wished that I was in Sarah’s place. 

“I haven’t,” he admitted. A part of me lit up. I was ecstatic that he did not truly want to be married. That this was all a rouse. 

“Why are you telling me this now? You have to be married,” I said, not believing my own words. There was no way that Brendon would go for it. 

“This is going to seem silly,” he shook his head. 

“You are aware that you can tell me anything, you know this, yes?” I asked. 

“I’m aware, I’m aware,” he replied. 

“What’s happening?” I asked. 

“I just fear that I’ll be entering a loveless marriage. And I understand that most people fall in love with their spouse eventually, but a part of me wishes I could’ve know her before now, fallen in love with her, understood what exactly I was getting myself into. I mean, of course, I’ve written her often, but you of all people should understand that you cannot get the same kind of intimacy through pen as you can through speech,” he explained. 

I disagreed with him in that, for my relationship with him on paper was far more intimate than any kind of relationship I could have had through speech. However, I understood what he meant about letters not having the same sort of intimacy. And I certainly understood his desire for love. If only he knew that I could have given him all of the love in the world.

“I understand,” I returned.

“You don’t though!” he exclaimed. He realized that he had raised his voice, and his shoulders curved down, his body forming the same shape as a crescent moon. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s alright. I’ve wanted to yell at you many times recently,” I joked.

“Honestly?”

“Yes, but that isn’t important at the moment. Please, continue.”

“Alright well, I’m just afraid that I’ll never be able to love this woman. I’m meant to marry this woman, she’s supposed to bear my children, and what if I can’t! I’ve never met her. I know that my family wants us to marry for the good of the Urie name, however, I sometimes wish that I could marry someone that I knew I loved. Because at the moment, I do not feel like I love Sarah. And I am not sure I ever will,” he divulged. 

“I often wish I could marry for love too,” I laughed, shaking my head. I imagined a world where I married Brendon. His smile at the altar, his lips on mine, his suit on the floor the moment we stepped into a bedroom that would be ours for the rest of time. But this was not a world that either of us lived in, nor would we ever. I needed to continuously remind myself that there was no timeline that existed that would ever lead to me and Brendon joined in holy matrimony. Not in this lifetime, at least.

“You can though! You have that opportunity! You can fall in love! You can be married for whatever reason you wish!” he retorted. 

“You understand why that is though, correct? If my father hadn’t thought me a failure, I would have a bride by now,” I replied. I shuddered at the thought of myself being married. At the knowledge that I likely would be by now if I had been a success thus far. 

“I apologize,” he said softly and with a very heavy tone of guilt within his voice. The room felt foggy, our lives both very uncertain. 

“It isn’t your fault,” I responded, looking anywhere but at him. 

“Perhaps I should leave,” he contemplated allowed.

“Stay,” I replied. “I want to ensure you are happy. I do not want to watch you leave this room still feeling this sort of pain.”

“Alright, well, I’m not completely certain what to say at this point,” he said softly. 

“I’m not either,” I replied.

“You’ll still be my best man, yes?” he asked.

“What would ever change about that?” I asked. This time, his hand reached out for my own. His fingers curled around my hand, I felt my stomach turn inside out. 

“I’m not exactly sure. You’ve just seemed as though you have no interest in the wedding. Whenever it comes up, you seem uncomfortable. I just worry that you may not want to be a part of it anymore,” he admitted. 

“Of course I do. It’s you. I’ve thought that you would be my best man since we were young. And since I won’t marry, I am honoured to be yours,” I lied. I did not want to be the one to hand him the rings that would take him away from me. I did not want to have to stand directly beside him as I witnessed his first kiss. Especially because it wasn’t with me. I did not want to have to give a speech on the happiness I hoped for the newlyweds, as in all honesty, I hoped that their union would be unhappy, and leave Brendon crawling back to me for any sort of love and affection I could provide to him. 

“Alright,” he breathed. He squeezed my hand. I looked up at him, directly into his eyes. His pupils were large, his brown irises seemed to disappear into the black in the centre of his eyes. 

“I hope you find the love you’ve been looking for,” I mumbled, breaking eye contact with him as quickly as I possibly could. 

“I hope you find someone. You deserve the most beautiful woman there is,” he said, placing his hand onto my shoulder. His touch felt so, so warm in that moment, as if I had been stranded in a blizzard and he was a freshly lit fireplace, melting any frost that had formed on my skin, in my words, in my heart. I quickly twisted my body away, fearing third degree burns. 

“Right,” he said softly.

“You will find love in Sarah. I swear upon it,” I said to him, bringing my focus back to his face. I didn’t look into his eyes, however. I focused on anything else. His nose, the way that the freckles on his cheeks formed so many different pictures that I wished I could spend every moment of everyday connecting. His lips, but I had to remove my focus from them quickly, for I had such a deep desire to press my own against them in that moment. I settled on a grouping of freckles that formed the shape of a heart. It was soft, it suited him. 

“What if I have no desire to?” he asked, although I wasn’t sure if he was asking me, asking God, or if it was a rhetorical question.

“Pardon me?” I asked for clarification.

“I have no desire to,” he repeated, his eyes catching my own for a moment, the colour draining from his soft, youthful cheeks. 

You could cut through the tension in the room with a knife. It was the two of us, sitting on my bed, staring at one another. Neither dared speak a word. There was nothing more terrifying, at least, that I had experienced, than this moment. Any move that either of us could make would likely be the wrong one. 

“Perhaps you should show yourself out,” I said, shakily standing up off of the bed. 

“You’re likely right. I’ll leave,” he answered. He stood up, the bed made a squeaky noise. I focused on the thudding sound of his footsteps through the room, as they were the only sound that seemed to exist at the moment. 

I opened the door for him, he left the room, then stepped over to the room next door, and unlocked his door. I pretended that I didn’t see him look back at me as he stepped into his own stateroom. I was alone again. And this time, it was my own fault. I was the one who told him to leave. And perhaps- perhaps that was the case in the rest of our lives. I was just pushing him away from me. Asking for him to leave. 

I sighed, and went back to my own bed. I wanted to cry. Tears would not escape my eyes over Brendon, I could not allow that to happen. I missed him now; I knew how much I would miss him when he was married. I pulled the pillow out from beneath my head, and pulled it close to my chest. I pretended that it was Brendon. It would never share the same warmth as he did. It couldn’t hold me in return.

In my mind, I replayed everything that had just happened. This time, however, instead of asking him to leave, essentially forcing him out of my headspace, I closed the gap between our lips. We were kissing and kissing and kissing. His hands ventured over my entire body, before deciding to pull me out of my clothing. 

There was a messy, unfolded pile of clothing against the wooden floor, his naked body pinned underneath my own. I had never seen him naked before, however, my imagination could fill in the blanks. He was there, and he was everything I wanted. I had finally plucked the forbidden fruit. His lips were attached to my neck, while my hands ran up his chest. He was so, so soft. All mine. 

But he was not mine. He was Sarah’s. And he was not here with me, but in the room next door, as I could not be what he needed in that moment. I knew he would never want me as a lover, but it was so, so difficult for me to view him as a friend. But that was what he needed in this moment, even if I could not provide it to him. He would have to find solace in himself. 

I thought about what he had said. That he did not wish to fall in love with Sarah. What had he meant by that? I wasn’t certain. He could have meant that he did not wish to fall in love, although, our conversation had told a different story. I thought that it most likely meant that he wished to fall in love, but perhaps with someone other than Sarah. Or perhaps, it meant he was already in love.

I wondered who it might have been with. Of course, I hoped that it was me, however, I knew that it could not be. I thought about this mystery woman, the one that Brendon was in love with. Or wished to fall in love with, I wasn’t exactly sure. I knew that whoever she was, did not deserve him. Brendon was too good for anyone this Earth had to offer, including myself. I loved him, but I knew that he was far to good for a simpleton like myself. 

I stood up off of the bed, and walked over towards my journal. It laid open on my floor to a poem I had written for him when we were still young. I was surprised he had not attempted to read it. 

_ The most successful poets  _

_ Write of _

_ Love _

_          Or _

_                   Pain _

_ As humanity _

_ In its most basic form _

_ Can only _

_ Love in vain. _

I laughed slightly to myself, even as a teenager I was a cynic. What else could one expect from someone who would never have the opportunity to love?

I picked it up off of the floor, and turned it back to the page with Brendon’ writing on it. I loved him so, so deeply, and fell back onto the bed reading the words that he had written. 

How deeply I wished that he was here beside me, in love with me equally. Whispering it into my ear, knowing the same as me, that we could never admit this to anyone except one another. 

This was not reality, however. There was a part of me wishing we could just be young boys again, not worrying about the realities of love and marriage. We were happier then, even in the days when I knew that I loved him. 


	7. VI - London, England, April 12th, 1907

“Joyeux anniversaire,” I laughed. 

“Pardon me?” Brendon asked.

“I’ve been attempting to learn French. Joyeux anniversaire. Happy birthday!” I smiled,

pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Thank you mate!” he smiled in response. He had been busy with the festivities all day, the two of us had retreated out of the grand ballroom, sitting outside on the ledge of a fountain. It was late, the only light being that of the moon and a few lanterns. No one knew where we were, and I had no desire for anyone to find us. I loved these small, beautiful moments, alone together under the cover of ignorance. The stars were hardly visible in the night sky, but I could still make out a few small constellations. His eyes were up on the sky, probably attempting to pick out the shapes that they formed. 

“You’re sixteen now! Hard to believe,” I smiled.

“I’m only half a year younger than you, stupid!” he answered. 

“Seven months and thirteen days, actually,” I stuck my tongue out. 

“How long did that take you to figure out?” he asked.

“I’ve known since we were young. I’ve taken quite a liking to my mathematical superiority,” I said. 

“Oh, shut up, you,” he pushed on my face. 

His face was glowing in the low light, it was slightly chilly outside, but I could feel heat radiating off of his body even though there was certainly space between the two of us. 

“What did you get me?” he asked.

“Pardon?” I attempted to clarify. 

“For my birthday! What did you get me?” he asked again. Oh, shit. I had forgotten to get him a gift!

“Uh,” I tried. 

“You forgot to get me a gift, didn't you?”he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t!” I scrambled to think of something. I remembered that I had a small notebook in my pocket. There must have been a poem that wasn’t incriminating somewhere in there. I pulled it out.

“Wait, are you actually going to let me read one of your poems?” his eyes sparkled brighter than any star in the sky could have. 

“Perhaps,” I smirked. He looked so, so happy. I loved his smiled. I let out a soft, breezy laugh, flipping through the pages and attempting to find something that did not profess my love for the boy sitting beside me. 

“Here,” I said, pointing at a page. 

_ The most successful poets  _

_ Write of _

_ Love _

_         Or _

_                 Pain _

_ As humanity _

_ In its most basic form _

_ Can only _

_ Love in vain. _

He read the words over, his eyes feverishly following my letters. Once he was finished, he read it over again. And then a third time.

“Ryan, this is beautiful,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” I replied. His eyes followed the letters again, he held his finger out and traced over them. 

“Do you really feel this way?” he asked me.

“Pardon?”

“That people can only love in vain. What would you even know about love?” he clarified.

“I know plenty about love,” I replied.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asked. Shit, I didn’t quite know what to say in response to that. 

“I’m not exactly sure,” I responded. I figured that would be the best way to prevent myself from saying anything that would cause issues between the two of us. 

“Ooh, who is she?” he asked, as though he was about to hear some sort of juicy piece of gossip.

“No one you would know. Don’t be concerned with it,” I replied. 

“Ryan! C’mon, am I not your best friend?” he pleaded. 

“You’ll realize soon enough, love,” I replied. 

“You are so irritating!” he exclaimed, pushing on my shoulder. I lost my balance, and fell backwards into the fountain. The water covered my body, soaking my clothing and my face. I held my breath beneath. I resurfaced, Brendon was laughing harder than I had ever seen him laugh before.

“You ding-bat! Why would you push me in!” I shouted angrily, standing up and out of the water. 

“I did not mean to! I’m so deeply sorry,” he said, still in a fit of hysterical laughter. 

“Hmph,” I pouted, moving back to sit beside him.

“You are completely soaked,” he laughed. 

“No thanks to you,” I replied, trying to brush any excess water off. Almost as if it was on cue, it began pouring rain. 

“We should probably return inside,” he said. 

“No way in hell!” I laughed. “You’re staying out here and getting soaked with me!”

“I hate you,” he said.

“We both know that isn’t true,” I smiled. I looked down at his hands, realizing that he still had my notebook.

“Hey, give that back to me,” I said, swiping it out of his lap. 

“Hey! Let me read another!” he exclaimed, trying to reach for it. His face was so close to mine, I so desperately wished to tilt my head down and kiss his pouty lips. He looked so soft and pretty. I continued holding the book out of his reach. 

“Not in a thousand years,” I laughed. He lost his balance, and fell into the fountain. It was my turn to laugh now.

“Ryan!” he yelled, pulling himself up and above the water.

“Doesn’t feel so nice now, does it Brendon?” I replied.

“It’s my birthday! You have no need to be so rude to me today.”

“Where would we be if I wasn’t?” I smiled. He pouted and crossed his arms in response. I laughed a little bit. He was really sopping wet. His clothing hung loosely around his body, little water droplets dripping off of every edge. His white dress shirt was now semi translucent, and I was doing everything within my power to not pay attention to the peachy skin beneath. 

“Now we truly are going inside,” he said, stepping out of the fountain and onto the courtyard ground. 

“And you say that I’m no fun,” I said.

“You are,” he replied. “I want to go home now.”

“Alright,” I said slightly disappointed. I didn’t want to have to leave his side. I wanted to spend all of my time with him. Especially on his birthday. 

“C’mon,” he said softly, grabbing my hand. I flinched at the contact. He looked at me knowingly, and dropped it. I didn’t want to break the contact with him, so I took his hand back into mine. He looked back at me with a very soft smile. I was in that moment, reminded of just how much I loved that boy. His soft, sweet smile, the tingly feeling of his hand in mine. That was all I needed in life. I could lose everything I had, and I’d still be happy as long as I had him. 

I had such a deep and strong bond with him, it seemed completely unbreakable. I wanted to spend every moment with him, and in my youth, a part of me believed that I might. 

“Boys! We’ve been searching for you!” his mother said, appearing at the door in a tizzy. Past her, the ballroom looked grand, everyone donning their most lavish clothing. It was quite a spectacle. “Brendon, many people came to see you! That was so rude of you to leave the party! We put a lot of time and planning into this! Now you need to go and speak with the people who you don’t see often. You have no need to be sneaking off with Ryan. The two of you are always together anyways.” It made me smile slightly, knowing that people knew that the two of us were inseparable.

“My apologies, madame Urie,” I said as respectfully as I figured possible, lowering my head slightly in order to ensure she knew that I understood my inferiority. 

“My god, the both of you are soaking wet! You can’t go to meet people looking like this! God, what am I supposed to do?” she shrieked. 

“Mother, calm down,” he said.

“Do not tell me to calm down, young man! You have no right! This is your fault! I put all of this time and effort into throwing you a party where you can meet a potential wife, and this is how you repay me?” she shouted. 

I had no idea that the overarching purpose of this party was for Brendon to meet a potential suitor. I should have expected it, he was growing up. And his family had trust in him, unlike my father in me. 

I didn’t want to think about the possibility of Brendon having a life without me. A life where he was married to a woman, where he had a family, where he had no reason to continue on with our friendship. I did not want to think of him kissing someone else’s lips, grinding himself against someone else’s hips. 

“George Ross! Are you listening to me, young man?” Mrs. Urie snapped me out of my runaway train of thought. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, I must have spaced out for a moment there. My apologies,” I muttered, fearful that she would take Brendon away from me. She had certainly threatened it before. 

“I expect far better from you! Your father would never do something like this! You should seriously consider being less selfish, think about a person besides yourself for a change! Brendon has more important things to be concerned with tonight! You can see him any day, most of the young ladies here tonight cannot! And quite frankly, his future wife is far more important than you,” she chewed me out. Her words cut deep, not only was I unimportant, but I would always, always be less important than whatever girl Brendon fell in love with.

“I apologize. This was not my intention. It was your son who-” I began, but Brendon covered up my mouth, preventing me from continuing my words. 

“Brendon, is he being honest?” his mother raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Unfortunately, mother,” he hung his head, dropping my hand from his mouth. I licked my lips, and I could taste a small amount of salty residue from his clammy palm. 

“We will speak more once we’re at home. I don’t wish to embarrass you here. You may stand under the awning until you dry slightly. Neither of you are forgiven,” she said sternly, then disappeared back into the mass of people. 

“God, is she always that harsh?” I looked at him.

“You didn’t have to rat me out,” he breathed heavily, almost as though he had been holding his breath the entire time that his mother had been in our presence. 

“My apologies,” I said. 

“You didn’t know. It’s quite alright,” he said softly.

“Alright. Thank you,” I replied. We stood in silence, nothing filling the air but the sound of raindrops pat, pat, pattering against the stone-paved ground of the courtyard. I didn’t enjoy the times when Brendon and I couldn’t fill the air with laughter. 

“Do you only write about love or pain?” he finally broke the silence, voice harmonizing with the sounds that nature made. 

“You want to know the truth?” I asked him. He looked at me, his deep brown eyes attempting to find the windows to my soul. He nodded softly. 

“I don’t write about love or pain. I write about being in pain at the fault of love, or even falling in love as a means to prevent feeling any sort of loneliness or pain. I would never write about one as though it was isolated from the other,” I admitted.

“I don’t wish to think that way,” he replied. I didn’t answer. “I think we can fall in love independently, in happiness. And I don’t want to think that love and pain are related. They’re opposites.”

“That’s an interesting take,” I considered his words. I would love to think the same way, however, I was almost certain that Brendon had not just been told that the love of his life would be betrothed in coming months. I could not imagine a love without pain.

“I want to fall in love,” he whispered softly. God, if only he knew just how much heartache falling in love truly caused.


	8. VII- Cherbourg, France to Cobh, Ireland: April 10th, 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for.

I did not want to fall asleep feeling as though I had hurt the boy who meant more to me than anything else which existed in my mundane life. I summed up my courage and stood up off of the bed. I could walk outside and knock on his real door, or I had the option of using that door that connected our rooms. Our two separate worlds. I chose the latter. 

“Brendon?” I asked, knocking on that door. 

“You’ve expressed yourself clearly,” he replied, just loud enough for me to hear. His voice sounded shaky, God, had he been crying? I was very concerned.

“Brendon, please, just, open up. I need to speak with you,” I called out, unlocking my side of the door. 

“Fine,” he replied. I heard his bed springs squeak. I desperately tried not to imagine them squeaking for another reason. 

I heard the lock click. The door was open. He was inviting me back into his world.

His state room looked identical to mine, except each item was on the opposite side of the room. But I chose not to focus on the look of the room. Tried to focus on Brendon.

His eyes were bloodshot, he had certainly been crying. I could follow the traces of his tear stains down his cheeks, the salty water drowning his soft freckles. He was disheveled, most of the buttons of his shirt undone, his tie lazily hanging, undone from his neck, his belt undone. He was undone. I had undone him. And I needed to undo him further. God, how I wished that clothing was gone. 

“Are you alright?” I asked him, inviting myself to take a seat on his bed. 

“I’m not sure if you’re any good at reading people anymore,” he jabbed sarcastically. “But take a good look at me. Do I look like I’m alright even in the slightest?”

I didn’t answer. I just shook my head. 

“Exactly what I thought. Now what exactly did you need to speak with me about? Because I’d like to graze over it and then ask you to leave,” he barked. I flinched, not expecting him to be this confrontational with me. I wondered what had happened to the carefree boys we once were. What exactly had led us down this dark path?

“I was wanting to apologize, although now I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said, slumping my shoulders down. His eyes widened for a moment, as if he was suddenly realizing something important. He sat down beside me, his facial expression completely different than it was a moment ago. It looked more forgiving, the soft, angelic boy that I had grown up beside. 

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to be so forward. This is just-” he paused for a moment, as though he was attempting to find the proper word to say. “A very difficult time for me, and I feel as though you’re shutting me out.”

“I don’t mean to,” I replied, inching slightly closer to him. He did not move away. That was certainly a good sign. He returned my gesture by moving closer to me. Our faces were so, so close. It would be so simple for me to tilt my head and press my lips to his. But this was not the time. Brendon needed a friend, not a lover. 

He put his arms around me, and pulled me into a hug. My face was into his chest. I could feel his heartbeat. It was moving so quickly. Beat, beat, beat, beat. I focused on the sound. I could smell his cologne, I attempted to absorb every part of this moment. The warmth of his touch. The sound of his heartbeat. The smell of him. The way the fabric of his shirt scratched against my skin. We hadn’t hugged in over a year. This was like some sort of rebirth. The tension had grown so great between us, and now, everything was folded in together, the stress released. 

I felt something wet on my shoulder. Tears. I was surprised that he did not sob. He was slowly letting himself go. Slipping back into my fingers. 

While I loved him, and loved the feeling of him in my arms, I knew that I could not let this last for too long. This was dangerous. I was letting myself take too much. I dropped my arms. He did not do the same thing. One, two, three… Twelve of his heartbeats before he dropped his own and moved away. 

“I apologize. I've  just- really missed having you around,” he mumbled. 

“It's quite alright,” I answered. “And if you would still like to talk, you know that I'm certainly here to listen.” 

“Thank you,” he breathed. One tiny, perfectly round tear flowed down his face and dripped down onto his clothing. I wished that I could kiss his tears away, but I knew that wouldn't happen. 

“Alright,” I said, and then I let silence fill the room. It was just us. Soft and pure. Brendon and I. No words, no sounds, just the two of us, and silence. 

Brendon broke the silence with a shaky breath, as though he was about to start crying. I was deeply concerned for them. 

“Brendon, you know that you can tell me what’s wrong, right?” I reaffirmed. 

“I'm not sure how I could say it,” he replied. 

“What you were speaking of earlier, did you mean that you don't wish to fall in love in general?” I asked, attempting to help him along with his explanation. 

“No, it's certainly not that,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly. I could see tears beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes. I would do everything within my power to ensure they never fell. “It's- well, again, I'm not sure how to say it,” he repeated himself. 

“Have you fallen in love already?” I asked softly, fearful of his answer. 

“Yes,” he nodded his head. That was what I feared. He was in love. He had someone. Some beautiful girl had been left behind in London, and he knew that he would never see her again. His marriage was a tragic event not only for me, and not only for himself, but some girl who had already had the opportunity to love him. 

“Are you still in love with her?” I asked. His eyes widened. His pupils were larger than I had ever seen, irises completely engulfed in darkness. 

He didn't answer. He shut his eyes as tightly as he possibly could. A few small tears showered down his soft face. 

“Hey, it's alright. You are allowed to be in love, after all,” I tried to soothe him. It was very difficult for me to be comforting when I was breaking on the inside. I felt a small droplet of water form in the bottom of my eye, but I refused to let it fall. He needed me in this moment. I had come to accept that I would never find love, however, it was obvious that Brendon had found it. And now he had to give it up for some woman he had never met. 

“You see, I'm not. I have no other option but to marry Sarah. And I don't believe I'll ever be able to love her as much as I love-” he paused, I assumed it was because he was considering whether or not he might tell me the name of this mystery woman. “Her.” 

He did not tell me the name of this ominous “her”. I had never seen him around women, so I was extremely curious as to how he met “her”. What “her” had that I did not. I wanted to provide him with all of the love that “her” must have. But that was not my place right now. I just wanted him to be happy. Even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness for his. 

“Well, there must be a way that you can find yourself with her. You could write her or something of the sorts,” I said softly. He shook his head and just finally began to sob. I quickly pulled him into me, and let him cry onto my shoulder. His breathing was sporadic and uneven, and I knew that the salty water spilling from his eyes would certainly leave a stain on the shoulder of my jacket. It did not matter though. I needed to help him to feel better. 

I rubbed my hand up and down his back, carefully feeling each curve of his vertebrae. I tried to make soft little comforting sounds, however, they did not work as well as I had hoped. I let one hand end up in his hair, softly stroking each lock. The silky texture between my fingers was slowly starting to bring my own emotion to bay. My other hand found itself in an awkward position in the small of his back, rubbing tiny little circles. 

I hadn’t seen him crying in so, so long. I hated seeing him in this sort of pain. I couldn’t do anything except wait for the earthquake to end, and even then, there would still be aftershocks. I pressed a small kiss to his forehead. I felt as though I might be overstepping my boundaries slightly, however, at this point I was willing to do just about anything that might have aided his emotions. He did not react, simply continued to cry. There was truly nothing that I could do, and that made me feel absolutely powerless. 

His sobs began to slow. He began to slowly, slowly, slowly come back to reality, the downpour turning into a light shower. He did not pull himself away from me, however. He only clung to me more tightly. God, how I would miss this when he was married. Any little piece of physical affection I could recieve currently, I treasured. For it would become a rarity quite soon. 

“I’m really quite sorry, Brendon,” I said softly. 

“It isn’t like there’s anything you can do,” he replied, finally pulling away from me. His movements felt shaky and uncertain, however, mine were even worse. I tried to ignore the shakes and jitters in my hands, however, it was quite obvious. 

“Why don’t you tell me about her? Perhaps that will help,” I suggested.

“Alright,” he sniffled. 

“How did the both of you meet?” I asked, attempting to start him off. The last thing I wanted to hear about in this moment was the woman that Brendon loved so dearly, however, I truly had no other option.

“We’ve known each other since we were young children. I love her, Al,” he breathed.

“You’ve made that clear enough,” I laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. My brain was quickly trying to determine what women Brendon had known since the both of us were young children, however, none came to mind. 

“She’s quite beautiful. Her hair is so soft,” he smiled. “It forms these little brown curls around your fingers. Her eyes are this strange shade of brown, like, a soft amber. But she’s so, so much more than that.”

“Is that right?” I asked. I could think of no woman I had seen Brendon around with curly brown hair and amber eyes. This was getting more and more curious. 

“Yes, but, she’s much more than her looks. She has such a beautiful mind. The words that she writes-”

“She writes?” I asked. I understood that some women wrote, however, it was certainly rare. Brendon was certainly a very lucky man.

“Yes, she does. She writes the most beautiful poetry. I’ve been trying to encourage her to publish it, but she won’t even let me read the bloody stuff! It’s like some sort of secret, I suppose,” he laughed. His mood was beginning to come back to normal, and I was very thankful for that. 

I was confused. This woman sounded very similar to me. What exactly made her so perfect and special that he would love her and not me? It was quite infuriating, really. 

“Well, poetry is quite private,” I said. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. 

“I think-” I paused. “If you love her so dearly, you'll be willing to do what it takes to be with her.” 

I was slightly referring to my own situation within my advice for him. 

“That's the thing, though. It isn't possible for me to be with her.”

“Why not?”

“I'm going to be married,” he reminded me. Screw marriage! He deserved happiness, not being trapped in some sort of loveless marriage. God, I could only imagine. I might have been loveless, but at least I was free. 

“I apologize. Why don't you tell me more about her?” I asked softly. 

“She reminds me somewhat of the moon. She's very mysterious. She's very strong, as well. I remember attending her father's funeral, she never shed a single tear.”

The similarities between myself and this woman were beginning to become more and more eerie. A part of me hoped that he was actually speaking about me, however, I knew that could not be true. 

“That's interesting.”

“She has this annoying little habit, whenever she gets nervous, her hands shake.” I must have been imagining it, but I swore he was looking at my hands. I was just looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses, that was all. 

“She can always tell when I'm upset, although, she hasn't been there for me as much lately as she usually has. I appreciate the sentiment, though. I remember one time when we were really quite young, I was upset for some reason, and she wrote me this sweet little poem about how the sun only came up for me. That was when I first thought that she might love me as well, although I have my doubts now.” 

Wait, God, I had written that. Was he actually referring to me? Was this some sort of subtle admission of love? I wasn’t quite sure. Even if it was, I had no expectation of him outrightly admitting his love. It had been more than five years for myself, and I was still unable to allow the words to escape me. I would not push him. For all I knew, he could have confused his memories. I could have confused mine. I did not want to get my hopes up. 

“Gosh,” I started, unsure what direction my vocal chords would choose to take. “This girl, she certainly sounds a lot like me.”

There it was. I was testing the waters, seeing what exactly he would say in response.

“Yes, I suppose she does,” he laughed uncomfortably.

“You’re not falling in love with me, now are you Brendon?” I laughed. The room went dead silent. If a single hair had fallen off of my head in those moments, I would have heard it. 

His eyes locked on mine. No answer. Except now, I had my answer. Knew exactly what he was thinking.

You see, if it hadn’t been me, he would have laughed along. Protested. Made some sort of claim. But he was silent. So, so silent that I swore I could hear his heartbeat. 

I wasn’t quite sure what to do. My mind had never played out a scenario in which the both of us could be in love. I didn’t know what path to take, where to go from here. I was no good with this sort of thing, I never expected feelings to be mutual. 

I moved closer towards him, our faces mere centimeters apart. I cupped my right hand to his face. He felt so, so soft. His cheek was still wet with tears. I felt one fall towards my hand, and brushed it away with my thumb. He started to let his chin drop down, almost as though he was ashamed. God, I wished that there was nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Hey,” I said softly. He picked his head back up slightly. There was my shot. I shut my eyes, and leaned in towards his full, pink lips. 

I tapped my lips against his, ever so slightly. He recoiled back at first, but I took no offence. But then, I felt his lips purse. He was kissing me back. The moment I came to that realization, I pulled back. I stood up off of the bed, and began my treacherous trek out of the room. I had let things go too far. 


	9. VIII- London, England: October 2rd, 1903

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was two days late, apologies, but I hope you enjoy!

“George, you will never believe this!” Brendon exclaimed as we walked towards the hill to work on our studies. Although I was uncertain whether or not we would truly get any work done, I was very glad that we would be spending this time together.

“What’s wrong, love?” I asked him.

“My father claimed that I have to be a lawyer when I’m older, how horrid is that? I shouldn’t even have to work at all! The moment he dies, I’ll be a rich man. He should watch his words, or perhaps I’ll kill him!” he said, half angrily, half-jokingly.

“God, am I glad that my father would never want me to follow in his footsteps,” I said, beginning to climb up the hill, feeling tiny emerald green blades of grass brushing against my boney ankles. 

“I’m serious though, George, what am I gonna do?” he asked me.

“You’re twelve years old, Bren,” I laughed softly. “You don’t need to worry about it for now! Your future is so far away.”

“I mean, not really, I’m more than halfway there,” he said, reaching the top of the hill and collapsing back onto the grass. 

“You’re being so serious! You’re supposed to be the fun one,” I replied, crashing back beside him. 

“I’m just worried,” he said.

“You don’t have to be. I’m sure you’ll become a great musician someday, just like you’ve always wanted. If you ever need words to sing, you know who to call on,” I smiled, turning my face towards his, little pieces of grass scratching against my skin. 

“I know,” he turned his head too, and smiled his big, bright, sunny smile at me. How I wished that I could see that smile every moment. 

“It’ll be great! Someday, we’ll create the greatest operas the world could ever see. With my words and your music, really, who wouldn’t want to listen?”

“You are right, we do make a pretty spectacular duo,” his eyes sparkled. 

“If your father does force you to become a lawyer, perhaps we take their places. We could carry on Callahan and Bigge,” I suggested. He turned his head back up towards the sky, as not to focus on me. 

“No offense George,” he said. “But that’s the last thing I want.” I wasn’t exactly sure if he was referring to being partners with me, or becoming a lawyer. I chose to think of the latter, as the possibility of the former was certainly far too painful. 

“I know, darling,” I replied softly. 

“You know, you’re quite lucky that your father doesn’t attempt to push his desires onto you,” he said softly, his fingers twiddling with a loose thread on the light navy material of his school uniform jacket. 

“I know,” I replied, attempting to forget about the bruise that was certainly growing darker on my stomach. The one that my father had caused the previous night in a drunken stupor. Brendon didn’t need to worry about that for the time being, not that I would ever tell him. I wouldn’t impose my own suffering onto him. 

“I like the future where we write operas together far better. Speaking of which, have you written anything interesting lately? I want to read some of your work,” he said, turning his head back towards me. I sat up off of the grass, slightly pulling my jacket off of my white button up shirt. I pulled my notebook out of the inner pocket. I flipped through, unsure if there was any content left that he hadn’t read yet. I frowned, noticing that he had certainly read everything already. 

“Well?” he asked, sitting up, looking at me with wide eyes. 

“Nothing you haven’t already read,” I replied. 

“Write me something,” he smiled.

“Are you serious?” I asked in response.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked, then put on a fake serious face. I threw my head back in laughter. He did the same. I cherished moments like this, even if they happened often. 

“I don’t generally write for people, I think it diminishes the thought of writing,” I told him. 

“Please!” he pouted, bottom lip becoming slightly more prominent, and God, how could I say no to that?

“I will make one special exception for you,” I smiled. “Just this once, though.”

“Fine,” he smiled, falling back down. Looking down at him, he looked so radiant. He was so bright and happy, the sun to my ever dark moon. Even when he was upset, he was still this bright, radiant being. I swore that he couldn’t be entirely human, perhaps instead of Mr. Bigge, an angel was his real father. I wasn’t exactly sure what cause me to think that, but it was certainly the case. His chest rose and fell peacefully, almost as though he was about to fall asleep. I, on the other hand, had a slowly rising pulse rate. 

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist, hands on my stomach, pulling me down on top of him. I began laughing so hard that my stomach started to ache, as did Brendon. The vibrations from his stomach felt funny against my head, but I definitely didn’t want it to end. 

“That feels funny,” I laughed. 

“What?” he asked, ceasing his laughter for a moment. I missed the strange sensation.

“Your laughter. It felt funny,” I clarified. 

“Oh,” he said softly. 

We laid in silence for a moment, but I didn’t really mind. I loved getting to spend time with Brendon like this. It wasn’t a nuisance to have the air numb and hanging, instead, a sweet pleasure only he could provide for me. 

“Weren’t you going to write for me, love?” he broke the silence.

“I was, but you’re being a brat, so now I’m not so sure,” I replied, sticking my tongue out at him.

“Please? I’m very upset, you know. My father wants me, a poor, young, musician to become a lawyer. Right now, you’re the only one who can heal my wounds,” he pouted, being ridiculously melodramatic. 

“Perhaps if you’re good,” I replied. He just looked at me with a pouty face. 

The silence returned, but not for as long as the previous time. 

“Look at that cloud, it looks somewhat like a star, don’t you think?” he asked, pointing up at the sky towards an anthropomorphic blob. 

“Perhaps,” I replied. “I see it more like a seashell.”

“No way! That’s most definitely a star!” he defended. 

“Whatever you say, Charlie,” I shook my head at him. 

“You’re such a gnat sometimes, you know this, right?”

“Of course I do,” I laughed. 

“What about that one? That’s a pencil. You know, like the one in your pocket that you should be using to write for me right now,” he smirked, pointing at a different cloud. 

“Alright, fine, I suppose you’ve been good enough,” I chuckled, pulling out the pencil. I let my head focus on the cycle of movements made by his chest rising and falling, feeling his heartbeat through the layers of clothing. 

“What do you plan to write about?” he asked curiously. 

“You, of course,” I replied, playfully pushing his head slightly to the side with the tips of my fingers. His cheek felt soft against them. 

“How sweet of you,” he batted his eyelashes. “Careful now, I might fall madly in love with you.”

“I don’t think that is very likely,” I said skeptically. I was confused as to why exactly Brendon would say something of that sort. 

_ The sun would not rise if not for your face, _

I began the poem. I disliked the ending of the line, and scratched it out. Now the page read  _ The sun only rises to stare at your features.  _ Much better. 

“I like it thus far. Be careful though, mate, you might make my narcissism worse!” he laughed, obviously having read what I wrote. 

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” I laughed breezily. 

“Have you ever written a romantic poem before?” he asked me, although I wasn’t exactly sure why his train of thought had led him there.

“No? I have no one to write one about. And if you’re thinking this is a romantic poem, you’re certainly wrong,” I said, although I wasn’t exactly sure as to why I added the final portion. 

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” he quoted. 

“I am not a lady!” I exclaimed. 

“Whatever you say, love,” he smiled, pressing a tiny kiss against my cheek. I supposed it was a friendly gesture, but considering the current topic of conversation, I considered the possibility of ulterior motives. 

“I’d be careful if I were you, I won’t finish this if you continue being such a bother,” I said. 

“Darling, you could just give me that single line, and it’d be quite alright. It’s certainly better than anything I could ever write.”

“You flatter me.” 

He softly began to hum a tune, and let his fingers brush through my hair as though I was some sort of cat or dog. I flinched at first, but then melted into his touch. It was sweet, a very gentle moment, where I had the ability to feel alright with the contact of another human’s skin against my own. There was some sort of perfect, unspoken trust between the both of us.

“Is that Beethoven?” I asked.

“Hm?” he asked, stopping his tune for a moment. 

“What you’re humming,” I clarified. “It sounds sort of like Beethoven.”

“No, actually, it’s something I’ve been writing,” he explained. “I’m glad you think it’s comparable to someone so fantastic, though.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, love,” I smiled, taking in the way his face was glowing with pride. 

“I don’t exactly have to when you do it all of the time,” he replied. I didn’t respond, simply laughed at him. 

“Aren’t we supposed to be working on our studies right now?” I asked, attempting to bring us back to our purpose for being here. 

“Yes, but I’d rather listen to your poetry all day,” he smiled back at me. 

I should’ve known then, what the sinking feeling in my stomach was. I’d go on to write about it for the rest of my life. If only, if only I had just let him listen. 


	10. IX: Cherborough, France to Cobh, Ireland: April 10th, 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's really gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while, huh? this has been sitting in my drafts for ages, I have no idea why I never posted it. anyways, enjoy, it's basically just an extended makeout scene

He grabbed my hand and pulled me back onto my place on the bed beside him. I sat in silence, as did he. Our hands were still clasped. I looked down at them. This was where they were meant to be. I was tired of living a life where my hands were not in his. Now, now I finally had my opportunity to feel his fingers intertwining with my own. The pieces were falling into place. 

“Do you want this?” he asked softly.

“What?” I asked in response, letting my thumb glide across the palm of his hand.

“This. Do you want to be- I’m not quite sure what exactly this is, but is this what you’d like?” he asked.

“I don’t know, to be quite honest. You’ll be married soon.” I said softly. Were my lips deceiving me? I wanted to have the opportunity to love him for so, so long, and now, I was finally afforded the chance. I wanted nothing more than to press my lips against his once more. 

I supposed it was my common sense speaking, I would be able to be with him for a week, then I would be the one to hand him the rings which would betroth him to another. I wasn’t sure that I could handle that possibility.

“I understand,” he replied, dropping our hands from the firm grip they were previously within. His eyes looked glossy, his expression looking pained. God, this was stupid. This was love. Common sense should not have won in this case. 

I closed my eyes and went in to kiss him again. The moment our lips touched, the world went numb. He tasted so sweet, I hadn’t had the opportunity to fully feel it the first time our lips had touched. He was everything that I ever could have wanted, and thousands of times more. 

All of my senses were gone except touch. His lips were so, so soft and sweet, I wanted nothing more. He recoiled at first, as though he wasn’t sure what I was exactly attempting to do. Then, he went back, his lips pressing hard against mine. His arms wrapped tight around my collar, fingers splayed against my shoulder blades. I let my hands run up his sides and settle on his waist. He felt so thin, so gentle, so breakable. 

I wasn’t exactly sure how long it lasted. It could have been seconds. It could have been millenia. But eventually, I pulled off of him, lips parting with a loud smack. 

“Why did you stop?” he asked softly, our faces glues together from our foreheads to the tips of our noses.

“I’m not sure,” I replied.

“I love you,” he said to me for the first time. My eyes widened. My heart seemed as though it was attempting to escape the ribs it was caged into. 

“I love you too,” I whispered the admission to him after so, so long. 

And his lips were back on mine, I was kissing him back again. Never in my deepest dreams had I expected any of this. To even have the opportunity to experience mutual love with another man, let alone my sweet, sweet Brendon. 

His mouth opened slightly against mine, I followed in suit. I wasn’t sure whether or not it would be alright for me to slip my tongue through to his mouth, but he was certainly ahead of me, letting his find its way into my mouth. 

He pulled me in tighter, his hands keeping their firm grip into my shoulder blades. I wanted this, God, I most definitely wanted this. I wanted to absorb every moment, every second of this. Our lips were still pressed, the rest of the world seemed distant. I was kissing Brendon Urie. After such a long wait, I was finally kissing Brendon Urie. 

His lips ventured from my own down onto my neck, kissing the sensitive skin softly. I wasn’t exactly one to make a great deal of noise, however, I definitely let out a soft moan. He pulled me backwards onto his bed, so that my body lay perfectly on top of his. I didn’t want to press too much of my weight onto him, I was afraid that I might break him. I moved my hands off of his waist, and onto the bed directly beside his body. I pushed my weight off of him and onto my hands, hoping to take away the pressure on his body, and hoping to take the attention away from the swelling in my crotch.

Brendon did not seem to enjoy the loss of contact, pulling me back in and closer to him, so that every part of my body was in contact with every part of his. His lips went back to my own, and it felt electric. If given the option, I would wish that I could simply live with my lips attached to his for the rest of my days. It was the first place that I felt any sort of belonging.The first place I felt any sense of love. 

I thought that the clothes between us, preventing this kiss- or series of kisses- from turning into something more, were not necessarily an obstacle. I was more than willing to move slowly. I had waited so many years, I could certainly wait longer for him. 

I removed my lips from his, and made a short path of kisses from his mouth down onto his neck. I pushed open the fabric slightly, revealing the top portion of his chest. I continued the trail of kisses onto his collarbone. I started sucking on the soft, unmarked flesh, hoping that I would make some sort of reminder of these moments. I wanted to do so on his neck, however, I knew that there would have to be some way to ensure it could be hidden. His skin tasted salty, like a strange combination of sweat and tears. That certainly did not bother me, I wanted every bit of it. 

He let out a moan much louder than the one that I had moments before. God, I had imagined that moan so many times, dreamed it, pictured it, used the forged memory as a means to masturbation, however, nothing could compare to the real thing. Nothing would ever compare to the real thing. Except now, I had the real thing. He was lying beneath me, eager for every touch, every suck, every kiss. I was so, so grateful that this was no longer something of my imagination, he was truly here. 

“Ryan,” he gasped softly. 

“Yes?” I took it as a question, peeling my lips off of his skin to answer. 

“I wasn’t asking you a question,” he laughed.

“Oh,” I replied, cheeks going red from embarrassment. I began to laugh as well.

The moment had been lost, so I let myself roll off of him and onto the soft linen spread over the mattress beneath us. I put my arm around his shoulders, and softly kissed his forehead. This felt like home. 

“I love you,” he laughed breezily. 

“I love you too,” I responded, pulling him into me tighter. the warmth of his left side against my right side made me feel so light. 

“I wish we could stay like this for good,” he sighed, nuzzling his face into my chest. 

“You must have read my mind,” I said. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“You know, I never thought that I would get the opportunity to experience this,” he admitted. 

“Neither did I, to be completely honest,” I agreed. I let my hand run up and down his back, tracing every bone that lay within his body. He was real. He was here. This wasn’t some sort of twisted dream, like so many that I’d had before. I shut my eyes tight, and opened them wide once again. He was still here. His body still warm, still soft, still heavenly against my touch. 

“How long have we been dancing around one another like this?” he asked softly, his right hand falling onto the left side of my chest. I could feel his pulse in the veins of his wrist, and it was slowly beginning to sync into my own. 

“I’m not quite sure,” I lied. I knew exactly when I had fallen for him. August 31st, 1906. The day after my sixteenth birthday. How cliche of me to fall in love at sixteen. 

“I think I first knew when we were still young. I’ve always sort of known that I was crazy about you,” he replied, placing a short kiss against the fabric covering my chest. I wished that his lips had found my skin instead.

“Is that right?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. I placed my fingers on his chin, tilting it upwards so that my face would be level with my own. I pressed a tiny kiss against his lips. Feeling his lips pursed against my own was truly heaven on Earth. It was perfect that I could have this now, I certainly wasn't going to heaven after I died. 

“I’m really very glad,” he smiled, after we pulled away. 

“About what?” I asked, although, I was fairly certain that I already knew. 

“That this is finally real,” he smiled. His face was so close to mine that when he spoke, his warm breath hit my lips. 

“I love you, Brendon,” I said, not sure what else I could reply with. I was very glad that I could finally say it out loud, and not only that, but also that I could use it to fill the silence. 

“I love you,” he replied, kissing my cheek. 

“Brendon? Brendon are you in there?” I heard his mother’s voice call out. My heart dropped into my stomach. 


End file.
